


To the Sea

by Silex



Category: Brandy (You're a Fine Girl) - Looking Glass (Song)
Genre: Based on a song, F/M, Jukebox Fanworks Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:24:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Silex
Summary: An elaboration of the song it was based on.





	To the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



> Written for an exchange because it's one of those songs that you hear it once and it kind of sticks in your head way more than if should for how simple it is. There's a story to it and it leaves you wondering.

There had been nights where she stood on the pier, staring out at the horizon, watching the stars in the distance and the shapes of clouds passing in front of them. There were times when she imagined that something other than clouds would block out the stars, the shape of a ship in full sail would come into view, returning to port for the first time. The thought always brought a smile to her face. She would see the ship for the first time yet find it intimately familiar. Because it was a ship she knew by heart, would know by its captain.

When she first met him she’d been charmed by his stories, the vivid tales he told of foreign ports and exotic locals had filled her with longing. He wasn’t a captain, just another lonely sailor at the bar and she’d braced herself for the point where his stories would turn to lewd suggestions or drunken boastfulness, but they never did. He had been truthful when he had said that all he wanted was to have company while he drank and between serving the other patrons she made time for him.

His ship stayed in the harbor for just over a week and every night he would come to the little bar where she worked and talk, just talk. He never asked anything of her other than that she listen and listening to him was a pleasure.

She always loved hearing the stories that the sailors told, wished that she could join them on their voyages to all those places she’d only heard about. Her imagination was vivid and she could feel the ship rolling beneath her, the salt spray drying on her skin, the wind filling the sails.

On his final day in port he asked her a question and not the one that she’d expected. He wanted to know why she was working in a bar and she answered as best as she could, not because she felt that it was an answer owed, but because she wanted to tell him, wished that she could join him on the open seas and travel to foreign ports.

And he listened, never interrupting once.

When she was done explaining he nodded and promised that he would return.

He did too, over a year later, with new stories for her and a gift. A silver locket all the way from Spain, because of all of his stories the ones about Spain were her favorites. Now she had something that was a part of them, something that came from all the way across the ocean.

It was beautiful and meaningful and when she held it she could see him and hear the rigging creaking, the waves lapping against the wood of the hull. Closing her eyes she could feel the ship turn, ropes humming in the wind as sails were pulled in and the ship glided into port. Not the one she knew, but one she had never seen. The sun there was hotter, the breeze dryer and smelling of dust rather than salt, the hustle and bustle was faster, the language spoken strange and fluid. He had spoken a few words to her in Spanish and she’d thought the language had sounded like singing. A whole port of people singing, even the joking and cursing of the men offloading cargo was a ribald poem.

Very different from the cold and clipped tones in the ports in England, the occasional lilting voice rising over the rest, reading out the shipping manifest to make sure all was in order. The air there was cool and fresh, the water dark and grayer than the water she was used to, the sun weaker.

It wasn’t just ports either, on the open sea there were all manner of sights. Clouds reflected in the water just right, looking like floating islands that drifted and vanished as the ship moved past them. Whales rising up from the depths, breathing clouds of mist and steam before diving back down with a great splash, terrified her. Not because of their size and appearance, but because they bore scars from fighting even greater monsters, ones that lived so far down that they never saw the light of day. The largest whales, ones that were nearly as large as boats glowed gold when the water was cold. She believed that because she had seen green flashes in the water near the docks on summer nights. Out in the ocean the glow was stronger, lighting up the whole boat.

It wasn’t all whales and lights though, there were things too strange for him to explain properly.

He’d seen a dying sea serpent once, shining like liquid sliver, a ragged red crest running down its back, probably the loser of a fight with a whale had been his theory. The creature had still been moving even though he was sure that its head had been bitten clean off, leaving nothing but a blunt, bloodless stump. She believed that too, because snakes still thrashed when their heads were gone and the severed heads themselves could still bite.

This time his ship was in port for longer, long enough that she wondered if he was going to stay, but he didn’t. He left, again promising that he would return.

It was less than a year this time, a short trip down and back up the coast. No gifts, but plenty of stories.

She listened and understood, he wasn’t going to stay, couldn’t stay, not when there was so much out there. Asking him to give it all up for her was unthinkable.

It would mean an end to his stories, and end to what drew her to him sure as a compass needle was drawn north. For him to stay with her would be for her to lose him, would be like asking him to cut off a hand, an arm, a leg.

She couldn’t do that to him.

Between her and the sea there was no contest, not when she understood so very well.

His visits gave her something to look forward to, but they also gave her something else, a way to divert comments and suggestions. When the sailors commented about her she could point to the necklace and say that she was promised to someone else. It preserved her virtue beyond all question.

When she held the locket she could hear his voice, but more importantly hear the sea and the promise that it made.

It told her that someday he would return on a different ship, one much smaller and purchased with his own money. He wouldn’t be returning to settle down to a quiet life with her, rather he would dock and invite her onto the ship, give her an unnecessary tour, because it was a ship that he’d described to her countless times before it was even real.

It wouldn’t be a ship he was a sailor on, but it wouldn’t be his ship either, not his alone at least.

Rather it would be their ship and their crew and they would set off together for him to show her all the places and wonders he had told her about.

It would be an end to his stories of the sea and the start of theirs.


End file.
